


You Are Everything And More

by infensi_floralibus



Category: The White Queen (TV)
Genre: F/M, Mature if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-03
Updated: 2013-09-03
Packaged: 2017-12-25 13:29:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/953659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/infensi_floralibus/pseuds/infensi_floralibus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"So give me hope in the darkness that I will see the light", a one-shot about coming to terms with dreams that will never be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Are Everything And More

**Author's Note:**

> I think I'm getting fluffier in my old age.... well, enjoy.

The court is as always a place of wonder and spectacle, for those thirsting for the fast flowing feverish life there could be no better place on earth; gowns as bright as the flesh of a lemon, as warm as Italian terracotta, and as painstakingly detailed as a “mille-fleur” tapestry.  


But none of this is of consequence to me; my eyes search only for the darker, more serious figure of my husband, who even now may be milling amongst the crowd, but the great hall is so packed it is near impossible to tell.  


It is with frustration that I concede that he is not to be found now; I shall most likely have to wait until the court begins to disperse before I locate him. My aggravation is intense as I am only at court to be with him before he again goes north, to repel the Scots on the king’s behalf. All evening I have tried to keep a smile on my face, for Richard, but underneath the mask of amiability my annoyance boils that Richard is once again being asked to slog through the mud, far from our home at Middleham, so that his brother may sit here with his ice queen.  


I am turning this thought over in my head, like an oyster rolling grit within its shell, when the crowd before me begins to part; the courtiers bow and curtsey, and the ladies sweep back their satin skirts like the parting of the Red Sea to allow the king to pass. I sink into my well practised and honed curtsey before my brother-in-law, who raises me up smiling.  


“Good evening, Lady Anne,”  


“Your majesty,”  


“You have been my sister-in-law nigh on eight years now, I think you may call me Edward,” he laughs,  


“As you wish,” I reply, careful to keep my tone neutral – Richard would not like it if I made known my upset at his enforced absence.  


“Will you walk about the room with me, sister?” Edward asks, already placing my hand in the warm crook of his arm. “How are you enjoying your stay at court? It is so rare that we see you here.”  


“It is, as always, a pleasure,” I reply, but I can’t have sounded sincere enough for Edward laughs that great bellowing roar of his and pats my hand saying,  


“You lie like a Neville,”  


I’m not sure whether this is an insult but I feel it is prudent for me to keep my mouth shut rather than question it. “Do you like it up north then? I find it a very cold, damp place but Richard has always been attached.”  


“It is true that I am always at my happiest when we are at Middleham together.” I reply coolly.  


Edward pauses in our circuit of the hall to turn and look me in the eye, a crease appearing between his brows.  


“And that it is a peace you feel I disturb?” We look at each other for a long moment in which I am not sure what to say or how to proceed; I just hope I haven’t made things more difficult for Richard. The frieze is broken by Edward’s sigh as he again begins to lead me around the room, “It is a fair opinion I suppose, sister. I know you are angry that I do so often call your husband away, but I speak in truth when I say there is little choice. My health is not what it used to be and I no longer have the fight in me to make it all the way to Scotland – even if I could mind you, it is Richard who commands the loyalty of the north, any expedition up there will be ten times more successful if he leads it.” I nod slowly, these words are true for Edward is no longer the golden boy of York; age has softened him so that there is now something.... bleary about his countenance, and his waist is too thick to still be considered athletic. It is also true that Richard has had more success winning over the traditionally anti-Yorkist north than anyone could have expected, but I still do not understand why these tasks always seem to fall to Richard. “The crown does not sit as easy upon my head as I once hoped it would, but knowing I have one as loyal as your husband guarding my borders lets me sleep a little better at night.”  


There is a moment of awkwardness following this revelation, whilst I spent much of my childhood with George and Richard I knew little of their elder brother, or then brothers, and it feels strange to be taken into his confidence like this. Sensing the tension Edward clears his throat and moves on to safer ground, “But what brings you to court? What could drag you to our lion’s den from your northern Eden?”  


“When Richard was summoned to court I offered to travel with him, I have seen so little of him lately. We shall ride back together as far as Middleham before he continues to Scotland.” Edward nods and grimaces,  


“I shouldn’t have asked, I hope you know that I take no pleasure in parting the two of you, or keeping you both from your little Ned, if it’s any consolation I think I can point you to where he may be now.”  


“I was looking for him when you found me.”  


“Well then, perhaps I can do some good this evening. I believe he is in the nursery... you look surprised? I am under the impression that he promised some of your younger nieces and nephews that if they went to bed when told then he would bid them goodnight. The trials and tribulations of being a favourite uncle I’m afraid – not that I think he has much competition.” Edward is releasing me now, kissing my hand with his warm lips and saying, “If you don’t meet him on the way down, do look in on the newest royal, she is quite the little angel.”  


We part ways and with relief I squeeze through the crowd, slipping out into the much cooler corridor. The patter of my feet echoes in the empty hallways and I don’t meet Richard on the stairs, I find him only when I tentatively open the door to the royal nursery apartments and see his dark figure beside the royal cradle.  


He is bent over the hand-carved crib, and I can hear that he is speaking softly to the infant who has his fingers in its plump little grip. The room is dark and filled with shadows, the only light being the frosty glow of the moon on the rush strewn floor and the sinking embers of the dying fire. It is dark enough to not be immediately recognisable and for a second I can imagine that we are far north and at home.  


It has been too long since I have seen him standing over a cradle and I break the near silence to avoid the wave of dark emotion that seeps into me from the shadowy corners of the room,  


“What would your men say if they saw the great Lord of the North cooing over a cradle?”  


Richard straightens, surprised to find himself in company, but he smiles and beckons me over until we are both looking down at England’s newest princess.  


“The nurses are convincing the others to sleep so I was left to watch over this one for a little while.”  


“They left you to play nursemaid?!”  


“Not in so many words.” Richard laughs softly; he wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me close so that he may drop a kiss on my head.  


In the crib below the little princess, already aware of her majesty, begins to grizzle at me for stealing her plaything; she waves her tiny fat arms and legs like a drunk at a brawl, unsure how to control her sleep heavy limbs. Even with her face screwed up, red with rage, I can see that Edward was right, she is a beauty. Whispy silver blonde hair and eyes the colour of French lavender tell me that she will inherit her parents looks, and her annoyance at not being the centre of attention for a second might seem to indicate she had also their temperaments.  


As the whimpers begin to turn into fully fledged cries, Richard leans down and with expert ease plucks her up, settling the babe in the crook of his arm. He gently shushes her and bounces on the balls of his feet, and I am struck by how at ease he is. I often forget that Ned it not his only child, there are two others, Katherine and Johnny, born before our marriage who he has almost certainly held like this.  


I clear my thickening throat to ask what this latest one has been named,  


“Bridget, I think they’re starting to run out of royal names; although that is not a bad price to pay for being so blessed.” I have to look away for a second lest he see the momentary agony I couldn’t repress; how I had wish we had been as lucky. “Would you like to hold her?” I don’t think fast enough to refuse and suddenly there she is, being placed against my bosom as my arms instinctively cradle her close. I had forgotten the weight of a child, and she isn’t a newborn, but there is something so reassuring about it, so solid and present. I can feel the rise and fall of her little belly, watch the quiver of those tiny blonde eye lashes as they fight sleep.  


“She’s perfect,” I whisper, and before I realise it I am crying, silent tears that slip down my face to land on her carefully embroidered night gown.  


“Oh Anne, my love,” Richard murmurs, and his voice is filled with the same unutterable, unexplainable sadness that lances my heart. He pulls me into his arms, one hand coming to rest on the back of my head where it slowly strokes my plaited hair, as he shushes me with the same gentle tone that he used to sooth baby Bridget. “Please don’t cry.”  


Bridget seems to sense the graveness of the moment and offers no protest, even as she is pressed between us, and I rest my head beneath Richard’s chin, allowing my tears to quietly seep into his doublet. I have to scrunch my face and bite my lip to contain a sob as I think that should someone stumble upon us, we would look like a young couple holding a child of our own.  


Richard holds me tightly, slowly placing kisses on my hair, forehead and temples, but there is nothing he can say. We have a long held silent agreement to never speak of the holes in our lives, the tiny never used garments folded in draws and the birthdays that never were.  


“I’m sorry,” I mumble, wiping away the remaining tears with the lace handkerchief Richard offers me. I breathe deeply and blink away the fresh tears that attempt to rise, thanking the darkness that shields the worst of my appearance.  


“There’s no need,” he replies softly, and I nearly cry again at the sincerity in his voice. There are many who would have despaired at having so barren a wife but Richard never hints at the disappointment I know he must feel. “Let’s put her to bed,” he adds, taking back his little niece and placing her with great care in her crib, his hands as gentle as if he were handling priceless venetian glass. He then draws me to the window where the moonlight turns his smooth jaw to marble and his hair appears the inky blue of the sea at night.  


He knows me well enough not to speak; instead he kisses my hands, beginning with the palms and the pads of my fingers before moving to my wrists, the crook of my elbow, the join of my collar bone and throat. I sigh as one of his hands gently runs up and down my waist, whilst the other moves with his kisses; sometimes cupping my face, sometimes drawing the line of my throat, and sometimes following the curve of my breast where it meets the neckline of my gown. He continues until his lips find mine and his thumb runs across the hollow beneath my eye; he pauses with his lips barely brushing mine and whispers, “I love you.” He says nothing else, no more words of comfort, because at the end of the day, that is everything.  


I feel his lips skim mine as he utters these most solemn of words, and then he is kissing me. After all this time his mouth still affects me as if I were a maid, the soft press and pull of his lips, the slippery warmth of his tongue, brushing aside all else. My fingers entwine in his hair, and had I been able to see myself I would have been embarrassed by the eagerness of my response. I sigh into his open mouth and pull myself closer, but I feel his hands gently pressing me back until I am leant against the wood panelled wall and there is a foot of space between us. We are both breathing heavily and Richard is suppressing a smirk at how easily he can summon such a response from me as he whispers huskily,  


“I don’t think this is proper conduct for the royal nursery, Madame, you do know that a princess of the realm is trying to sleep over there?” Bridget is of course completely unaware of us, drifting as she is into slumber, but he is right that this is hardly appropriate behaviour, especially as a nursemaid may walk in at any moment.  


“We shall have to continue in our rooms, my lord.” I reply quietly, and he laughs, leaning in to kiss me on the nose just as the door to the next room begins to creak open and a matronly wetnurse appears. She curtsies and murmurs, your graces, before taking up her post by the crib, ready to address any of the slumbering princesses needs. “It would appear we’re no longer needed,” I whisper into the whorl of Richard’s ear, and fight to suppress a laugh as he briskly leads me from the room, clearly eager to reach our bedchamber.  


As we near race through the dark corridors I feel as though we are but two teenagers again, and our tryst forbidden. I lift my skirts and expose my stockings so that I can keep pace, giggling at the blitheness of the moment. We burst through the first door, moving swiftly through the small presence chamber until we reach the door to our bedchamber, against which Richard presses me so that he may again claim my lips; but I am already turning the lock and it swings open beneath our combined weights, sending us tumbling to the ground in a fit of giggles.  


Richard immediately takes advantage of the moment, pinning my body with his and consuming me with his kisses. I flick my shoes off and hear them land with a clatter somewhere beyond the door; drawing Richard’s attention to the problem that we are still fully clothed. He sits back on his heels but his hands dive beneath my skirts, making me quiver as his fingers skim my thigh, searching for the top of my stocking. When he finds it he teases me by drawing it down a fraction at a time, fingers slowly running down calves and cupping the bridges of my feet, until, by the time the second one is removed, I am shivering with anticipation.  


“You’re a wicked man, Richard Duke of Gloucester.”  


“Oh, do you think so?” he asks nonchalantly whilst slowly pushing the heavy skirts of my gown up past my knees.  


“You’re going to ruin my dress,” I protest as it bunches around my waist,  


“Then I’ll buy you another.” He promises, before submerging himself in the seemingly endless fabric, his head and shoulders hidden from me as he uses his clever tongue for things far more interesting than talking.  


***  


As we lie together after our love-making, nestled like two spoons in a drawer, Richard’s hand slips from where it rests on my hip so that his fingers are splayed across my stomach. His breathing is deep and peaceful sounding so I presume he must be asleep and that this is an unconscious movement; but it cannot help but prompt certain trails of thought.  


With a sigh I acknowledge that this evening’s coupling is unlikely to have accomplished what we have been trying for for almost seven years, but as melancholy as this thought makes me it is a comfort to know that for Richard, what we have is enough.  


It is true that when I count my blessings, Richard, Ned, Middleham, it seems almost absurd to be distressed that we have not been granted more. I cannot deny that I have not made my peace with it yet, but perhaps in time, knowing that Richard is happy with what we have, perhaps it can be enough for me too.  


Richard stirs behind me, pressing a kiss to the skin behind my ear as he whispers,  


“What are you thinking about?”  


“You,” I reply truthfully, “I am thinking how lucky I am to have a husband who loves me. I know we have been... disappointed, but knowing that what we do have is enough for you... that goes a long way to making it better.”  


Richard shifts away abruptly, propping himself up on one arm so that he is looking me full in the face with those sincere dark eyes of his.  


“Anne, you are so much more than enough, you and Ned.... you are everything to me. You are everything and more; I dare not ask God for more when I am already so blessed. I just wish that one day you could feel that way too.”  


“Perhaps... I think in time, I might.” Richard smiles and leans in to deliver a languid kiss that quickly develops into something more.  


“I suppose I shall just have to keep proving it to you,” Richard says grinning.  


And as he once again leads me down the paths of pleasure that we have explored so often together before, I feel for the first time, in a long time, that he just might be able to.

**Author's Note:**

> Having read The Sunne in Splendour I have a lot of feelings about Richard as a father and this was kind of cathartic.
> 
> Song lyrics are by Mumford & Sons


End file.
